Taking over
by Stone Amber
Summary: FACE Family fluff and fun, sparse pairings. Drabbles about France and England's parenting skills, or lack there of.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone, just wanted to quickly say THANK YOU for reading! I swear I'm still working on 'Anything for you' this just popped out of no where. I would also like to inform you I don't own Hetalia in anyway this was done purely for the entertainment value. Also, I wanted to let you know I don't support EnglandxFrance, nor do I particularly like adult America and Canada, weird huh? But when grouped together and taken back in time.. I like them all quiet a bit! **

**Also I appologize for my "french" lol, I did my best to google things to make sure I didn't sound like an idiot, so if I failed it's not my fault. **

**Oh random author fact: Whenever I try speaking with a french accent it absurdly turns Russian... Da! It drove me nuts, but I think I did well despite it's interferance. Key word: think.**

**Anyway please enjoy my drabbles..**

"NYHA! Do not drink zat, little one," France raced to rescue his son from a puddle that was _not_ there a moment ago. Taking the edge of his sleeve he wiped mud from the toddlers inquisitive face and hands "you want to be ill, oui?" Matthieu cocked his head at his fathers words and smiled showing off his brand new teeth. At that instant Francis' frustration melted, only to redoubled a moment later as the baby lunged at a butterfly almost slipping from his arms.

"Merde! Will you stop zat!"

"What _is_ that?" Curiosity alone made England bend farther over the changing table than was necessary, but that was as far as it went. "What am I.. oh .bloody hell!" quickly he folded the nappy and tossed it in the bin wrinkly his nose at the proud little nation who lay in front of him happily sucking his foot. "I suppose I should be glad it passed safely?" America gurgled, and a goodly amount of slobber trailed down his leg to pool on the plastic beneath him. England smiled, "let's stick to eating what's on the menu, mate. And that doesn't include appendages." He removed Americas foot which was instantly replaced by a hand, and when that too was removed, he began to wail.

"We are home!" France let the door swing wide, it hit the wall with a muffled _donk_, he cringed but let it go as he hiked an upset Canada higher on to his right hip then doing the same with a bag of groceries on his left.

"It's about time, Frog. I was about to send out the Calvary." The Frenchman deposited a silently fussing Matthew on the floor by America who carelessly abandoned his rocking horse in favor of a better toy: his brother. England on the other hand watched in bewilderment as the older nation stomp into the kitchen.

"Is it raining?"

"Non.."

"Did you fall?"

"_Non_.." was heard again between cupboards being opened and shut. "Z'is look," France announced coming to stand in the doorway running his hand up and down his torso "is curtsey of Matthieu, 'e is a magnet to filth. Z'is was one of a kind!" England snorted as the angered Frenchman dropped onto the other side of the couch expertly balancing a wineglass full of ruby liquid.

"Well, it still is" Arthur justified smirking again at the muddy hand and shoe prints that were planted seemingly at random all the Frenchman's most expensive and once blue, work suit.

"Very funny, haha! Oy, I'm exhausted" Francis ran both his hands over his face before closing his eyes and sinking farther into the plush cushions.

"Tell me about it" England grimaced and went back to the papers he had scattered all over the coffee table, "oh hey!" his pencil stopped as he turned to look at his roommate again " You haven't been feeding the children... insects, have you?"

"Zounds more like you're cooking, Angleterre." It was Francis' turn to smirk, something he did with great relish. At that the men silently held a battle of wills, both exchanging challenging looks, though England wore 'murderous intent' better than Francis so he surrendered first. "Non, I 'ave not done such a Zing." There was a beat where he was about to sip his wine but curiosity got the better if him instead "why do you ask zis?"

"You don't want to know"

"Fair enough" and he took a long swig.

Just then a high-pitched wail rent the room, England hung his head with a sigh while France held his cold glass of wine to his forehead and closed his eyes. Looking over at their charges they immediately diagnosed the problem: Alfred was actively gumming Matthieus arm, to the latter's dramatic displeasure.

"Oy!" England hopped off the couch narrowly avoiding a collision with the coffee table "What did I say about appendages?" he plucked Canadas arm out of Americas slobbery jaws and gently, but sternly, pinched Alfreds cheeks together "that includes your bothers." This enlisted fretful complaints from the tiny nation, to which England rolled his eyes and leaned sideways to reach an abandoned teether. Brandishing the ring like it was Excaliber he promptly executed the fussing.

"Bien fait," France swirled the ruby liquid in his glass as he relaxed against the couch self-satisfied "but should you not 'ave washed et first?"

England gritted his teeth, simultaneously a small body made a nest of his crossed legs, curling up to Englands body to properly enjoy his newest teething victim. The soft bundle melted his heart, Arthur ran a hand through the downy curls over and over, marveling at the impossible depth at which he could dislike and love his role in the life of the little nation. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something that promised to uplift his spirits even more.

Protectively cradling America against his chest he stood, forgetting the papers on the coffee table he began walking out of the room intent on giving Alfred the bubble bath of his life. However before completely forsaking the room and its wine-swilling inhabitant he stopped and turned. Doing his best not to grin maniacally he addressed the Frenchman.

" Matthew has gotten in to the baby powder, again." With that he left, the grin finally escaping on to his lips as he heard all manner of French expletives being sent directly at his back and not so directly at the child which was now happily, if confusedly, covered in fine white powder.

**Comments are love! I'm testing the waters a bit, there might be more if it's recieved well ..(I'm a little stinker huh?)**


	2. Chapter 2

**WoW, you people are ACTIVE! Reviews, watches, favorites.. Thank you! Thank you very much. And keep them coming, I gotta tell you while all the favorites make me giddy as a school girl, the reviews help me gage what I'm doing. I need feed back! Critique, and just plan direction. I'll tell you right now these are just drabbles (I sure hope I'm using that word right) there is no story here. I have a **_**vauge**_** idea of where a plot is hiding, but I'm not sure if I want to track it down.. **

**Oh business! I'm looking for a beta reader! I sloshed through a bunch last night in the beta bin, but I was either not impressed, too impressed and a mite intimidated, offended or just couldn't really find my perfect-soulbeta. If you are interested please send me a note, I do warn you I'm impatient, I do understand real life comes first, and if you're going into space, decorating a wedding cake, or studying for exams, I can give you time. But I expect a 900w doc to be turned around in 3-4 days. Also while i'm sure my grammar and spelling need make-overs I'm really looking for someone to bounce ideas off of and help me rangle characters. **

**Again, if my french sucks please blame wiki-answers, yahoo-answers, various other translation websites, and my sister. That is all.**

The soft crying was transcendent, it was everywhere! There wasn't a crack or cranny unaffected in the entire house, even the very marrow of Englands' bones filled and overflowed with sorrow. Though as the desperation increased the less he wanted to move. His trust in the "Sleeping through the night" baby manual he'd bought was rapidly fading as the longer the child went unattended the louder he got. Arthur didn't have to look at the color coded monitors on his nightstand to know which the pitiful lament was emitting. Though it wasn't until a sleep sodden yawn of a voice spoke through one that he made a move.

"Et iz yours Mon ami, pray he does not wake Matthieu or et will be you crying next."

The Englishman groaned as he sat up, playing the role of exhausted zombie rather convincingly. Clumsily he shuffled into slippers and wrapped his naked torso in a soft cotton robe. He ambled down the hall eyes half closed and occasionally using the wall as a stabilizer until he reached a door decorated with a glittering maple leaf. The room was blissfully free of it's own dissident music of the night, just to make sure he walked to the center of the room and peered through the hangings and round edge of the crib. Though Canada was Frances charge England was rather fond of the tiny blond nation that looked so much like his own little America, carefully he brushed a kiss across the toddlers forehead and retreated.

He was unaware of what perils laid in wait for him down the hall, so as England exited Canadas nursery he quietly closed the door. Taking in a deep breath he walked to the corner nursery, the death cry had become a smoldering whimper, which was not an improvement even with the decreased volume. It meant that America was truly upset over seomthing and if that wasn't heartbreaking enough, it meant it would also take twice as much time to clam him down, and likely would resolve in one of them sleeping in the others room.

A pitiful sight met him as he entered the room. Some how America had gotten his leg stuck down between the mattress and the bars of the crib, he was resignedly resting against the bars whimpering, one leg stuck the other bent under him. Guilt suffused Arthurs' body for letting him cry as long as he had, sprinting to the edge of the crib he released Alfreds leg in a trice and had him up in his arms just as quickly.

"I'm sorry I'm sorry, oh g* I'm sorry." Gently he massaged the formerly trapped leg, Alfred let out a sharp complaint, but Englands questing fingers found the bone to be whole, though the muscle and skin was probably very sore. He massaged each leg in turn as Alfreds silent tears soaked his shoulder. He rocked the nation only for another moment before a boxer and robe clad figure hastily entered the room.

"Ez everyzing alright? Zhe monitor, I 'eard you.." he trailed off pointing instead to a wicker table where a one way baby monitor stood blinking with life for explanation.

"He's fine" England sighed and gave France a guilty grimace, "he got stuck between the mattress and the bars."

"Pauvre petit gars!" Francis drifted towards them silently resting a hand on the Americans head and stroking his corn silk hair "'e is un'armed zen?"

"Yes," he swayed a moment or two longer the Frog silently standing guard. "Is he alseep?"

"Oui"

England carried America back to the crib and slowly lowered him, whether it was the new position he was at or the absence of additional body heat Alfred awoke and started to cry again, swiftly England brought him back to his shoulder and he quieted to a soft cooing.

"looks like I've got a small slobbery bedfellow tonight." France chuckled and clapped a hand on Englands other shoulder as they walked out of the nursery.

"Zomezing every man should 'ave at least once en 'es life. Bonne nuit!" and at that they parted ways


	3. Chapter 3

**Hurray for another installment! I actually have many others that I plan on releasing once a week. Except… for the next one. I'm very uncertain about the next one and sadly I wont up load until I find a beta to help me with it. Not to fear, I am actively pawing through all the betas and am waiting for a few to respond. **

**VOTING! Do you want a story/plot or just more random scenes? (No France/England, sorry peeps)**

"And after your fifth bath, we shall be boxing you up and shipping you to the University for scientific evaluation on how one so small can spontaneously, GAH!" England froze in the foyer as an unabashed France untangled himself from a very red Seychelles in the living room.

"There are children in this house!" England scowled furiously, his mouth would have fallen open in shear disgust had he not been afraid of what Alfred might put in it. The American was overly fond of Cherrios, and it was likely he had some hidden on his person, in varying states of deterioration, and despite Englands many attempts at removing them.

"Darling" France cooed to the woman still straddling his lap "why don't you freshen up, our reservation is in an hour." He kissed her nose and patted her rear-end making her giggle as she vacated to the nearest bathroom. After she was gone France turned casually back to England.

"And what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Nozing," he crossed his legs and looked for the entire world as if he'd just been reading the bible.

"Francis!" England demanded unclasping the baby carrier from his back while taking heed not to drop its contents.

"Arzhur!" France countered standing to help only to be brushed off, "for all Alfred knows we were making pottery."

"You were making something alright, and he'll know! Some day he'll look back and know. And then he'll be traumatized and turn into a gender confused fop like you!"

"Where did you get zhis gender confused? I am not confused, nor am I a fop."

England matched Frances uplifted eyebrow with a furious bushy furrow of his own before stalking off into the kitchen. Francis rolled his eyes following haughtily to lean against the arched doorway as he watched England place a happily squirming America in his high chair, who began to sing and bang the breakfast bowl that was left on his tray as he was fastened in. A suspicious glance was thrown at the empty chair next to Alfreds and England turned again on the Frenchman.

"Where's Matthew?"

"'E iz upstairs, sleeping, like a baby."

"But it's not his nap time." France began explaining himself as England searched for a clean sip cup for Alfred, mostly ignoring everything the Frog said. As he moved around the kitchen he noticed a small bottle of purple liquid. A flame of fury lanced through him as he read the label. Picking it up he spun on his heel.

"My g* you drugged him! I can't believe you drugged your own son so you could get a little action!" His anger was beyond words as he fumed in front of France, holding the bottle inches from his arrogant face.

"Like you are such a Zaint. You cannot possibly tell me you 'aven't thought of doing just zat a million times."

England was speechless, he had lied to France before and would do it again, but this topic was not to be made light of.

"And 'ad you been lis'ening to a word I'd said you would 'ave 'eard zat zat is a prescription for Matthieus' _cold_, and zat drowsiness is one of zhe side-effects."

"You, what?" Englands pulse went from galloping stead, to bouncing bunny rabbit.

"I even took zhe liberty of scheduling you and Alfred an appointment, zince zhe boys are practically inseparable I zought et necessary." He produced a business card from thin air and offered it to Arthur, "'E is a good doctor."

A clattering followed by a dismayed high pitch squeal told them that the breakfast bowl had found the floor, but increased babbling and slamming assured that Alfred was still sufficiently entertained.

Sheepishly England took the card, glancing at it briefly before resuming his search for the sip cup. "Uh..thanks.." Just then Seychelles sashayed into the room; France took no time in wrapping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her back to the hall.

"I'd say zat's worth a night of babysitting, oui? Come Ma petite, we don't wish to be late!"

"Huuh?.." England looked up from the sink and the overflowing sip cup in his hand.

"Au Revoir, Arthur" sang Seychelles from the hallway, and in two second the couple had fled out the door leaving a very bewildered England behind.


	4. Chapter 4

**So I've acquired an awesome, knowledgeable and patient beta reader!** .net/u/2433959/breaking_t_h_e_rush **has helped me fix my grammar, sentence structure, possessive's, and much much more. (didn't help with my intro, this mess is alllll me) We're a section update a head of schedule so there shouldn't be any lags in updates. Which, I'm not sure I told you, should be every Monday until I drop the ball :D I'm not anticipating ball dropping until I start working on the plot sections.. which we are gradually leading up to.**

"What ez zis?"

"Dinner.."

"Why does zhe boy's mush look more appetizing?"  
>"Because the boy's food was created in a lab by overpaid men in white suits and inflated egos. This was created out of the goodness of my heart, which is currently running off four hours of sleep, a bran muffin, and a very low opinion of the world at large.<br>France poked at his food apprehensively "I don't believe I 'ave to suffer just because you cannot separate fact from fiction."  
>"Those are real problems people face!" England retorted jabbing his fork across the table at France.<br>"I doubt et, et ez a Soap Opera!" France reasoned shrugging his shoulders and eyeing his son's fruit cocktail.  
>England blushed but fought to defend himself "art reflects life!"<br>"Oui, but whose?"  
>"There are more people in this world than you, you know." England reflexively saved America's cup as it was sent spinning to the edge.<br>"Oui," France smirked and winked as he speared a peach off of Canada's food tray. The blond boy frowned up at his father who clucked him under his chin playfully; evidently this action appeased Canada who went back to analyzing his meal, reminiscent of the older nation.  
>"Why do you have to make everything sexual?"<br>"Et ez more fun, non?"  
>"Or maybe it's because Seychelles hasn't returned any of your phone calls, and you're getting a little blue?" The Englishman waggled his eyebrows, but the other side of the table remained mute.<br>"I wonder if _she's_ having an affair." He waggled his eyebrows some more, this time achieving a reaction from the Frenchman.  
>"You know, in stead of living vicariously zrough my conquests, perhaps you should look into 'aving some of your own." France got out of his chair mumbling something about 'whose blue now' and took his dinner plate to the sink, as three pairs of eyes watched. "And just because I 'aven't told you she's called back," he said over his shoulder as he sent his inedible slop down the drain, "doesn't mean she 'asn't."<br>"So she has?"  
>"Non," he said cleaning off his plate then turning to look back at the table "but if you zay another one word about 'er 'aving an affair I'm calling zhe cable company and 'aving it shut off."<p>

America, Canada and England watched France storm out of the kitchen, then two pairs of cloudy ocean eyes turned his way, both began pointing and using their newest phrase: Uh oh.

England was fairly certain where ever France was he could hear the repeated "Uh oh, Papa! Uh oh Papa!" and even though the phrase didn't really mean anything, the feeling and inspiration behind it was incredibly sweet and it would be a fool indeed whose spirits weren't lifted by the tiny cries.

**Reviews/comments/critiques are love as well as insinuative... (yes, yes I'm shameless)**


	5. Chapter 5

As always, thanks for reading! Again my wonderful beta reader Breaking the rush helped. (Sorry I haven't figured out the link thing yet.. ) Here beings my journey from Drabble to possible Plot, hopefully I can do this.

England brushed a finger through a sleeping America's blond curl. It bounced back to rest against his head amongst it's fellows. Absently he did this a few more times before turning his attention to Canada, who lay sleeping next to his brother, clutching his favorite stuffed polar bear.

They were lit softly by Arthur's bedside lamp, as were a dozen or so storybooks and a document or two for later adult reading. England lay on his side, both boys tucked up against him sleeping soundly, like tiny angels. It was a peace unlike any he'd ever known. If France had been there he would have joked about liking them best when they were asleep, but it would have been a lie. A small one, but nevertheless a falsehood. He loved them no matter what they were doing, arguably naps and bedtime gave him less gray hairs; but watching them learn and grow was definitely worth all the soiled shirts and broken dishes.

He brushed Canada's hair as he'd done America's, reveling in the softness. Downstairs he heard a door roughly open and slam shut followed by lots of spluttering. An eyebrow cocked at the unexpected violence show to the door, however he continued gazing down at the boys contemplating while subconsciously following the footsteps in his mind. Slowly they trudged up the stairs, stomped into France's room and quieted. England felt a momentary urge to call out but resisted; there was no reason to bother him, nor did he want to wake the little cherubic nations.

England's eyes began to droop, as his head bobbed sleepily on his shoulders. Just as he was about to succumb, and let the pillows have their way with him, a figure stepped into the room.

"Ah, 'ere is where you are." Francis' voice started out loud but grew softer as he saw the sleeping kids. "'ow were zhey?"

"Fine." Arthur's eyes fought to reopen then tired their best to focus on the Frenchman, "how was your date?"  
>"Boring, and zhe rain did not 'elp." France sat in the over-stuffed armchair next to the bed, eyeing the trio. Arthur gazed down at his sleeping boys, his mind starting a new on his earlier thoughts.<p>

"Francis?"

"Mm?"  
>"Where do you think they came from? The boys, I mean."<p>

"I-" France shrugged, his mouth hanging open waiting for an idea to set it in motion. 

"If they were normal babies at least Canada would makes sense, considering all your ex-girlfriends, affairs, trysts, and one night stands." Francis rolled his eyes but said nothing. "But they're like us, countries." There was an elongated pause as both considered this idea.  
>"Zere are records of nations being related." France's smooth voice slowly filled the silence, "Egypt and Greece speak of zhere mozhers. Italy goes on and on about his Grandfazher. And Ludwig and Gilbert are siblings; as are Russia and his sisters." France finished his list by sitting forward and resting his chin on steepled fingers, gazing interestedly at his counterpart.<br>England said nothing, his face was serious as he continued to watch the toddlers, still running over their downy scalps with his fingers.  
>"Does knowing where zhey came from make you love zhem any less, Mon amie?"<br>"Of course not." England flared at the assumption.  
>"Zhen does it matter?"<br>"Matter? Of course it matters! What if they are taken away? What if one morning we awake and they are gone?"  
>"Zhat will happen eventually regardless of zhis knowledge."<br>"You know what I mean Frog!" America stirred at England's raised voice, which enlisted all manner of soothing noises to issue forth from the older man. At that moment France got up out of the chair and knelt at the bedside.  
>"Et will not 'appen."<br>"And you can be so sure." England whispered scathingly.  
>"Of course," He smiled as he gathered up Mattheiu in his arms. "Because I for one, will not let et! Will you?"<p>

Naturally he wouldn't; it was absurd to think that he'd let anyone take away his children. 


	6. Chapter 6

Days were never long enough. Minutes slipped by as if they were seconds, hours tarried only long enough to be acknowledged. But time stood still for horrible moments.

"Arthur?"

…

"Arthur?"

France was in the hallway in front of his office door, arms full and threatening to give out. He tried the doorknob again, unsuccessfully. A folder from atop his pile fell to the floor, spilling its contents across the tile.

"ARTHUR!"

"Papa! Papa!" Canada came careening around the corner of the hall, a wide intent smile on his face.

"Bon jour, mon cher, where is-" just then Canada rammed his legs with a fierce hug, though he was small it was just enough to send the top half of Frances armload toppling to the ground.

"Arth-"

"I heard you!" England rounded the corner just in time to catch a Rolodex before it hit an oblivious Canadian nation who was still clinging tightly to his Papas legs.

"What's going on?" England spatula'd Matthew off of France, "go get Alfred, aye Matty?" After patting Matthews rump to get him going, the boy only had eyes for his Papa when France got home from work, he began to gather up the fallen pictures, papers and files.

"There is something wrong with the door." France hefted his boxes, trying to shift them so he had a better position over the door situation.

"Nothings wrong with the door." England smirked as he stood up, placing several files back into Frances arms. "I just added extra baby security." With an unnecessary flourish, he took hold of the doorknob, making sure his fingers and palm hit the correct place, then twisted, the door popped opened without even a creak.

France grunted and pushed his way into the room. England followed.

"It's quiet ingenuous, so far it's kept the boys out of the laundry room, garage, bathroom, and pantry. And now it's kept you out of your office." He waggled his eyebrows.

"I'm thrilled!" France dropped his load off on a chair, and flipped on his desk lamp.

"You don't look it, are you alright?"

"Perfect. Where is-"France looked from his desk to his boxes then to England, who still held his Rolodex. "may I?" He held out his hand for the directory, and to his surprise England obliged.

"What are you doing."

"Working!" France snapped "Do you mind?"

"No no, not at all." England stashed his fists into his apron pockets. "It's not like I haven't had mature, adult conversations all day."

"Bon." France rummaged through papers.

"Or seen anyone over two feet high.."England was sullenly walking backwards toward the door.

"Bon." France said again reflexively.

"_Tell_ me you like doorknob."

"What?" France halted the handset of his phone inches from his ear, and looked up.

"I put a lot of work into getting them on, I even cut myself. The boys hate them, and keep crying at me. I thought maybe-"

"I'm on the phone, Arthur."  
>"Ya, well I'm in the room, Francis."<p>

Angrily France hung up the telephone, standing as he did so, "Do you have any idea what I've been through today? I'm this close to having a date with Madame Guillotine, and you want to talk about doorknobs!"

"Why is it because you work outside of this house that your day is more important than mine?" England tried not to yell, but he couldn't keep his temper from rising.

"I'm sorry, what have you done today, besides booby trapping my office door?"

"You'll thank me for that booby trap-"

"I'll thank you to get out of my office!"

"Well I'm not leaving until you tell me you like the bloody doorknob!"  
>"I do not, I do not like any of the baby security you've put up. I already can't open half the drawers and cupboards in the house, everywhere I turn there's a baby gate. I won't even go into the toilet locks."<p>

"And you think I like them?" England threw out his arms and advanced forward. "I feel like James Bond every time I want to make a snack."

"Then what do you want?" France leaned forward exasperated, landing both palms onto his desk.

"I want a little appreciation for all the work I've done! Don't even think of throwing that back at me, because you do, the boys love it when you get home. You're their savior. You save them from mean ol' Dad who just put them in time out for coloring on walls and makes them eat carrots, and wash behind their ears. " England's chest tightened, his eyes felt suspiciously like crying, though they wouldn't dare.

Not in front of France.

"I bet you didn't even know any of that." England walked to the door, slamming it shut behind him.

"I do appreciate you."

"What?" England looked up from the ledge on his desk. France was leaning in the doorway to his office, looking very glum.

"I do appreciate the work you've done. That you do, everyday."

"You certainly have a funny way of showing it." He looked back at his book, but none of the numbers made sense, Frances presence was seeping into him like a fog. The man had moved from the doorway to a chair directly in front of his desk.

"Oui, I do."

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. Finally France stood, walked up to England, and placed a kiss on his head.

"_Je vous remercie de tout cœur_."

England sate stone still as France left the room, his mind racing between allies of thought, testing each for their validity. In a scramble Arthur pulled open a drawer in his desk, then sprinted after his housemate.

"France!" He darted into the hallway, almost running straight into the Frenchman.

"I-ah, here" He handed France a semi round object. "Here's your doorknob back, and-and there's a dinner plate in the oven for you. In case you were interested."

France smiled at him then "_merci beaucoup."_

And then they really made out! Actually I'm just kidding, sorry folks. Maybe next time? No beta reader, I was lazy.


	7. Chapter 7

"You want to teach them to swim?" France folded a towel and placed it on the growing pile of clean towels on the kitchen table.

"Why not?" England jovially placed a tiny jumper on another pile. "I've read that babies take to the water like fish! And if, heaven forbid, they ever fall in a lake or pool or something they wont drown."

"We do not live by any of those."

"So, you're _never_ going to be somewhere that has a body of water? It's been proven that children can drown in only an inch of water."

"There have been studies?" France grimaced, pulling a small blue sock from a pair of his trousers.

"What? No! Of course not, how horrible would that be? I just mean.."

France chuckled to himself as England furiously tried to backpedal.

Later that week

England stopped and smelled the air, smiling brilliantly he bounced an equally excited Alfred on his hip. It was a beautiful day, and the pool water glistened in the late afternoon light, sounds of happy laughter, splashing and games could be heard all around. Beside him France paused, holding close a very worried Canada. The Frenchman was less than pleased with the scene, ungoverned children were everywhere and the sting of chlorine was already assaulting his senses.

"Are you happy now?" France said dryly, tugging unsuccessfully at a small arm that was wrapping itself tighter around his neck.

"Absolutely."

"Bon."

Unconcerned with Frances foul mood, England made his way to a set of sun chairs far back from the pools edge. Both men began unloading their haul of essentials; France placed a towel down on the lounger before depositing his son on it, a task England soon followed with after a sharp cry came from Alfred as he was lowered on to the sun-heated plastic.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to burn you on the chair." Playfully, if a might penitently, Arthur placed exaggerated kisses on the bottom of Alfred's feet before arranging the rest of their towels and sundry items next to the chairs.

"Oui, that is what sunscreen is for." France smirked at England briefly as he sat down next to Canada to begin the task of water proofing the little nation.

"I told you I didn't mean to do that." England sat as well, and looked into his sons' starry blue eyes that had earlier come in contact with baby SPF 80. They had faded from a bright angry red to a pale, slightly puffy, pink; though you could hardly tell through the tiny nations smile. Still at Alfreds eye level Arthur made a silly-face at him, the toddler let out a happy cheer and then maneuvered around him and pointed at the water.

"You want to go swimming, don't you my boy?"

Babbling in the positive America quickly scooted off of the lounger and darted for freedom. England was quicker however and scooped him up and airplane-glided him over to the stairs that would lead them into the pools cool, clean water.

Before taking the plunge, England looked back at the rest of their party. Canada was suited up in a red bathing suit and white T-shirt with a red maple leaf on it and sporting a matching hat; he was huddled at the end of the lounger covertly watching two boys in the pool splashing each other. France, always with a keen eye on his son, was rubbing lotion into his fair skin, he was also wearing a red suit, though it had a French flag decal on the left leg hem. Sunlight flecked beautifully off their flaxen hair, while making their oiled ivory skin glisten; they looked simply out of place, like they were models selected to be there by Francis' magazine or something.

Looking down he noted that he and Alfred weren't a too poor showing. Their suits matched, white red and blue respectively, their hair too was golden in the sunlight, and they made quiet the pair, if he did say so himself. Perhaps it was Alfred's eagerness to cause mischief in the water below, or his own devil may care, king of the seas past that made them less then model perfection.

"Are you coming or not?" He yelled, as he began walking into the water. He had to hold tight to Alfred as the boy was desperately trying to touch the water.

"Oui, we are coming." Came an unhurried answer.

Alfred kept lunging harder for the water, so instead of waiting England began descending into the pool. He held tightly Alfred's back to his front, and let the boy kick as he slowly lowered the both of them into the water. He had to bend his knees to get the water up to Alfred's waist, he wasn't about to go into the deeper end, the tiny nation didn't mind, he loved every minute of it.

Delighted squeals emitted from the American as he splashed and kicked and did his best to get free, he wiggled and giggled and generally made England feel like the best father in entire world. Beaming he looked around for France who had finally ceased in preparation and was watching them from the safety of the stairs, holding a surprisingly interested Matthew.

"Come on in, the water is great; look Alfred loves it!"

"That is good." France smiled at the ever splashing Alfred, and the look of joy on his face. Gazing down he kissed the top of Canadas head and asked, "are you ready Mia petit?"

Matthew looked between his father's face and his brothers, his look of concern lessening, and as France proceeded into the water he didn't cry out. Slowly, mindful of the spray that Alfred was perpetuating, France waded into the pool; slowly lowering himself as it had worked so well for Arthur. However where Alfred had wanted nothing more then to plunge into the water, Matthew wanted to take his time and, if possible, stay dry. Every inch France sank was an inch Matthew fled for higher ground.

"It does not hurt, see?" France dipped his hand into the water and swirled it around, bringing it dripping back out again. Careful not to rush his son, France waited as Canada slowly lowered a foot and touched it to the pools surface. The boy had no sooner put his foot in the water then he'd pulled it out and clutched to France even harder. Wincing as Canada pulled out a few of his chest hairs, France stood up, distancing his bashful boy and the water by almost two feet.

"It is cold, oui, but look" Turning so that Matthew could see Alfred, the two watched as America happily flung water, while a slightly tired looking England held his head off to the side in a vain attempt at avoiding the deluge. "Al loves the water."

To his relief Canada's death grip loosened, as to not frighten him again France spooned some water on to his leg, tickling him as he did so, "see, just like a bathe, only colder."

"Is something wrong?" England called, seeing that both France and Canada were still quiet dry. However due to Alfred's splashing none of it was heard. "Alright my boy, come on." Plucking Alfred out of the water he and the American waded back to the shallow end.

"What's the matter?"

"He's just worried." France said, after whispering softly into Matthews hair. Both men held their charges above the water thinking, while between them the younger nations began to play together. Three times Alfred tried to pull Matthews arms as if they could both get free and have an underwater exploration together. Finally England snapped his fingers in realization.

"I know, why don't you dunk him?"

"Excuse?"

"You know, like pulling a Band-Aid off. Do it quick and get it over with."

The icy look of skepticism France gave his counterpart could have frozen the sun.

Unperturbed the Englishman continued "Here, I'll show you, I saw this on TV. What you do," he said knowledgeably wading away from France and Canada. "Is blow in his face, cause it surprises him and he takes a breath, then you dunk." And just as he'd explained Arthur plunged a startled Alfred into the water for a quick three count before pulling him back up.

With contrasting emotions both men watched as Alfred righted himself. It didn't take long until the boy knew what to do; his tiny body began to shiver, and a lip to quiver, and before long the toddler nation was screaming, reaching ear-piercing levels in a matter of seconds.

France knew the trick wouldn't have worked, even still it was not the time for a derisive "I told you so" if Alfred's cries weren't heartbreaking enough then the ones emitting from his own son were. It was unsurprising that Canada was crying as well. He had been on the brink since they set foot inside the building, and being the tender soul that he was he often cried with sympathy pains for his brother.

Soon the little family was center of attention, and despite all the coddling the two older nations were giving them, both boys continued to howl as if they were cruelly captured and in the midst of being tortured.

"I think I will pass on zhat particular tactic, Mon amie." France hissed lowering his eyes at England before wading out of the water.

"If it makes you feel better, I agree." England called to Frances back. Sheepishly and guiltily England followed him out of the water, cradling a soaking and sobbing Alfred to his chest.

As quick as they could they bundled their charges in oversized swimming towels. They stuffed clothing, their own towels and tubes absently into bags. Finding keys they made a hasty exit. All the while Canada and America cried, and did their best to hinder the escape.

It wasn't until they were safely in their car seats that the boys quieted down, and as they drove away their sobs became softer and finally ceased all together and they were asleep.

"Zhat went well, non?" France said smugly putting on his sunglasses in the passenger seat.

"Shut it. You know swimming is a valuable skill to have." England looked in the review, amazed at how quickly the boys fell asleep.

"Oui, perhaps when they are older?" France patted England's thigh, before removing his hand to turn on the radio.

"Ya, I guess."


	8. Chapter 8

England sat at his desk reading through a document. As his eyes raced across the dull script the sounds of squeaking springs slowly filled the air. A glance up showed him that America had abandoned his crayons for a more active past time and was currently walking around on his couch. Shrugging he went back to his reading. As long as the boy wasn't hurting anything he was fine to do whatever he wished, the sofa may not like it but it gave him another few minutes of peaceful reading.

"Da'y! O'pa da dendow!"

After making a note, both on the document and on another pad of paper England spared his son a quick glance. "What?"

"O'pa da dendow!"

Had the American requested this of any other person, save for Mathew and Francis, they would have been at a complete loss as to what he had said. But ever since the boys began using their words instead of their actions to get what they wanted, both he and France had become adept at figuring out the new language that was being spoken in their home. Not as quickly as the boys would have liked however, which was ironically illustrated with actions.

"No, it's too cold outside." He continued reading but was interrupted again, this time with the short and impatient version the same request.

"O'pa! O'pa now!" America pounded on the glass, making a dull thud thud against the double pane.

This time England put down his work and focused calmly on his little nation. "Alfred, it's raining and miserably cold outside, and besides" he picked up his papers, keeping a keen eye on the boy, "that window doesn't open."

Alfred looked back at the window, then to England again, "no?"

"No," he assured.

A look of disgust marched across Alfreds face, he glared at the window as if it had utterly failed at life. England chuckled and returned to his work. He kept an eye on the young nation though, curious as to what was brewing behind his stormy blue eyes.

The pondering of glass and its complexities as seen by a toddler continued for quite some time, then suddenly America hoped off the couch and ran out of the room.

England listened to his son's footsteps as he ran, trying to gage where he was going and if he needed to be followed. The trail faded which meant several things, only a few of which were causes for concern; if they didn't return soon he'd go investigate. Moments ticked by, each one punctuated sharply with the silence of the home. Suddenly, and without preamble a wail erupted from the middle of the house. Quick and angry French drowned it out for a moment before it redoubled.

Hastily England got to his feet and followed the source of contention until he found a sobbing America in the front foyer with an angry Frenchman standing above him, scolding. He could see Canada quaking with fright down the hall on the other side, doing his utmost to hide behind his stuffed bear, his eyes were just visible above the teddy's head shining with unshed tears.

He didn't blame the poor lad, it was unlike Francis to get upset, let alone yell. And at one of the boys no less. He had witnessed Frances fury of course; been on the receiving end more often then not. He knew France better than most, and knew how he operated; this wasn't it. Not that it mattered to Mathew or Alfred right now; but France wasn't angry. He was worried, scared even. But to the boys yelling was something bad, and France was yelling.

"What's all this about then?"

Still keyed up France thrust something out to him for his inspection. " He had this," France was holding up an old sledge hammer, his fingers white and bloodless as he gripped it's head. "I can't imagine where or how he got it, let alone what he was going to do with it."

The English language was barely understandable while America was happy, but now between sobs and hiccups it was nothing but gibberish again. England took the hammer before it was imprinted permanently on Francis' palm. He tried hurriedly to work out why it was here, now and not in the garage where he knew it should be. Despite the ear splitting howl Arthur thoughts aligned, making him smile down at the tool and it's erstwhile wielder. He didn't like the idea of Alfred "opening" his window with a hammer, but it was the simplistic imagination that made him chuckle.

"I'll handle this."

England gave Francis a quick thank you and scoped up the misguided and confused American. Back in his office he found out, after a long interrogation, that Alfred had thought the window was broken and just wanted to fix it. He in turn explained that some windows open and some don't, and that his window wasn't broken. He mended the poor nations' heart by showing him a window that did open, and they spent the next hour testing its abilities.


	9. Chapter 9

What are you doing?" 

"Kooking" 

"I can see that," England chuckled as he passed the chair America was standing, kissing the boys head he picked up a measuring cup to inspect its contents. He sniffed it cautiously a few times and was about to taste the odd mixture when America yanked it out of his hands.

"Zhis isa supwise." The boy reverently put it aside out of England's reach and returned to mixing the flour in his bowl.

"What is it that you're making?"

"A supwise!" America cheered. A surprise indeed, not only was the kitchen clean, the boy was being unusually serious, and mature. Just as he was about to ask why type of surprise Alfred sent him a look that made him feel, dirty. Suddenly he felt like an intruder in his own home. The little American held his ground and he found himself inching toward the door. This once he'd let his rule of 'no playing in the kitchen' slide.

"Well," he hedged, looking around the alarmingly clean kitchen. "You know the rules; if you make a mess, clean it up. Call if you need anything."

"I will."

And with that, he left. Walking the halls England kept an eye out for Mathew who undoubtedly was Alfred's kitchen aid. But as he went from one end to the other he saw not hid nor hair of the boy. It wasn't until he reached Frances suite that he saw _anyone_.

"Do you know where Matty is?

"Is he not in the kitchen with Al?" France flicked a page of his magazine, boredom glazing his eyes.

"No, I was just there. Have _you_ been in the kitchen?"

"Oui."

"Do you know what they are doing?"

"'haven't the foggiest."

"Or the nerve to ask." England smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

"I do not see you wielding information about what is going on." France glanced up lazily then went back to his magazine, turning the pages with more disinterest.

"Touché, old man." England picked up a crayon picture from Frances desk inspected the front and the back, then put it down.

"How long have the boys been in the kitchen?"

France checked his watch, "about, fifteen minutes."

"We probably should go stop them. Or at least supervise."

"Or," France purred "you could go take that bath you've needed for a week." It was his turn to smirk, which he did with great relish. Pulling out a red marker he closed his magazine and placed a big red X across the cover then tossed it on to his bed where it joined a small pile of other magazines with similar markings.  
>"We can't leave three year olds in a kitchen by themselves! It's irresponsible."<br>Francis sighed and flipped the first pages of a new magazine, "They are good boys, well Matthieu is. And I have taken away all the pointy things."  
>"So!" <p>

"So, the worst they can do is a mild flesh wound, which we will hear, and you've had the hospital on speed dial since they learned to roll over. What is there to worry about?"

Prolonged silence from the doorway mad France look up. What he saw made him grin, he had finally rendered the Englishman speechless, as well as driven his roommate to self mutilation, the man was rhythmically pounding his head against the door frame.

"If it means that much, I will watch them." He announced casually, trying to mask yet another smirk. "Go, take your bath, it will do all of us some good."

England rested his head against the frame and looked skeptically over at the bed.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course!"

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. "Alright, but if something happens..."

"I know, you will kill me in some unimaginative way."

Arthur left Frances bedroom with a murmured "too right I will" and hastily walked back to the kitchen. Peeking around the door he saw that the room was more or less the way he'd left it. Matthew had arrived, and the two were intently looking at something on the counter. The boys had their backs to him and were blocking the object from his view.

Disappointed that he had no reason to intervene, he sullenly made his way to his room and it's conjoined bath.

After a surprisingly relaxing soak, Arthur gripped the doorknob of his bedroom, gearing up for whatever carnage that surely waited for him outside it. On a silent count of three, he yanked it open and was greeted by, nothing. Cautiously he leaned out, no one and nothing was about. The hall was free of debris, smoke, awful odors and blood.

Journeying out in only his rob, England inspected each room as he made his way to the kitchen.

"Did you enjoy your bath?"

Jumping a little, England turned to see France coming out of his office. "I-I did, where are the boys?"

"Their fine, still in the kitchen, but don't you smell good." France laid a hand on Englands waist and sniffed his hair playfully.

"Leave off, haven't you been watching them?" England asked, tilting his head away from Frances questing nose.

"Oui?"

"You're asking me? Francis!"

"You are not very trusting are you, mon cher?" France sighed as he watched Arthur run down the hall. He didn't know if he should be offended or amused, the man had after all taken the bath he suggested.

Arthur arrived in the kitchen doorway disheveled and out of breath, at his entrance both boys looked up. Their eyes suddenly were full of fear, which ate at Arthurs very soul. Hurriedly he straightened his rob and smiled, then his jaw dropped in awe. The room wasn't in flames, nor were the boys hurt, which was more than could be said when he cooked.

Taking advantage of his Fathers frozen state, Alfred hesitantly got down from his chair, picked up a plate and took it over to him.

"S-supwise!" He held out the plate with a little lump of something bread-like in the middle of it.

"And what is this?" France sang happily as he came in behind Arthur. Canada picked up another plate and immediately joined Alfred, holding up a plate for Frances inspection. France slung an arm around England's shoulders. England looked at him uncertainly.

"It could be worse Mon Ange, you could have made it." Quickly France ducked away from Arthur. Gracefully he took Matthieu's plate and bit into the treat.

They all watched, anticipation written on every face. Though England looked more sympathetic then anything.

"Exceptional!" He declared, taking another helping.

The boys beamed at each other then turned their expectant faces on Arthur. Stuck between a gloating-Frenchman and food-baring toddlers, he took the less embarrassing route, and bit into his own "surprise." A soft, warm, sweetness filled his mouth; it was good.

"So?" France asked ribbing him with an elbow, "what do you think?"

"It's good, well done lads." He added smiling down at his happily children. "What is it?"

The boys told them. France stoically turned green in the doorway while England ran to the kitchen sink to throw up.

"They cook like you after all." France turned away before the boys could see his eyes watering, and then bee lined it for the closest bathroom.


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur lounged luxuriously on the couch, while a drama softly played on the telly. A smile broke across his face and he closed his eyes, enjoying the experience of the far too rare sensation, of silence. France had finally upheld his end of their bet and taken the children on an outing. Leaving him all alone, in an empty house, with no one to talk to. And he couldn't have been happier.

It had been five hours since he'd bid them a fond farewell, and though worry pricked the back of his neck, he focused on the television, leaning on it for support of blissful idleness. They would be back all too soon.

"We have returned!" France boomed jovially as he held the door open for Mattew and Alfred to toddle inside. Arthur started from sleep, blearily he looked over the couch at the new comers.

"Welcome back," he croaked and looked at his watch. It was 6 pm, quite an outing. He'd have to applaud Francis for his amazing stamina later. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" chorused the boys. "I saw the Zoo!" America said brightly, holding up a T-Rex before making it zoom around the room.

"The Zoo?" Arthur asked the Frenchman, dumbfounded.

"Oui," Francis smirked, putting away the coats and stroller in the foyer closet. "Impressed?"

Rolling his eyes England focused on Matthew who was smiling and watching Alfred run around the room making airplane noises. "And did you get anything at the Zoo, Matty?"

Canada grinned and held up two polar bears. Arthur's smile faltered as he looked at the almost identical bears. He knew Matthew's old bear had been loved, but now that it was compared next to a newer version; he felt it was his parent's duty to burn the old one. Fore no amount of bleach and washing machine cycles was going to save it now.

Taking a step back, Arthur took a cleansing breath, he'd handle the bear later. When there weren't witnesses.

"Boys?" France prodded, "what else did you see at the Zoo?"

"Bea's yions! Boslots Toetos. An Papa swimyina water ifa duck, dne a wishy.." America finished, beaming and holding his T Rex over his head. Canada didn't add or say anything, but he did nod emphatically in agreement. Which was no help, for, whatever reason (he'd never admit it was his lack of patients) Matthews vocabulary was better than Alfred's, as was his grammar and diction. Had Canada told him what they had seen he probably would have understood. As it stood, it sounded like France had gone… swimming?

Looking up Arthur inspected Francis' clothing, which seemed to be in order and not even damp.

"Excuse me?" France accused, lifting an eyebrow.

"Uh… you swam in the water with the ducks?"

"Not that I recall."

"Papa nah swim, foggy did," Canada piped up, helpfully.

Both men repeated the word 'fog' to them selves, trying to decipher it's meaning. But it didn't take long before England burst out laughing as France's eyes widened in surprise and his frown grew fiercer.

"Are you happy now!" He hissed threw his teeth, "the boys are listening to you insult me!"

"They don't understand." Arthur explained, chuckling.

"Ask me if I care!" With that France knelt in front of Canada, all sunshine and rainbows. "Thank you Matty, why don't show your new toy your room?" Canada obeyed with a smile, running off, hindered slightly by the two large bears in his arms. "You too Al," they watched as the boys scampered away happily. Once they were out of ear shot Francis turned back on Arthur, his smile a thing of the past, "never again, you hear me?"

"Awe come on," Arthur whined in a mock plead, following France into the hallway "It's cute."

"Non."

"Can I spell it?

"Non! It is disrespectful, and undermines my authority."

"Then you have to stop insulting me." England huffed, stopping in the middle of the kitchen to fold his arms.

"I never insult you"

"Oui, you do," Arthur said laying on a thick Parisian accent "Zhe more you coook zhe worse you get. Apparently practeece doesn't make perrrfect."

Both Countries eyed each other across the Kitchen Island, ready to start slinging all the insults they knew when, crying suddenly broke their concentration. In another second Matthew had burst through the door in tears. Obviously distraught it took him a moment to attach himself to the right pant leg. Though either would have worked, it was probably best that France calmed his charge since England was better equipped to handle his own. Who would be arriving soon.

And in another second Alfred was zipping through the door with not only his new T Rex doll, but with Matthews new bear. In a crash course, Alfred rammed his toys into dishes, fruit bowls, cupboards and chairs, knocking most to the floor (thankfully plastic-ware was the common dinning set in their home).

Recognizing the glint of world domination in his sons eyes, Arthur snatched at the boy with little success. He was down the hall and things were falling from side tables in a blink of an eye.

"This isn't over, Frog." Arthur muttered under his breath, as he bee lined it for the conquering nation.

Sighing France picked Canada up and began patting the boy's back. "Whatever you say, Rosbif."


	11. Chapter 11

Thursday nights were spaghetti nights. And the only night where everyone ate all of their meal, without complaining. Well, for the most part, Al once screamed that his sauce was too red, but he ate it anyway because he wanted dessert.  
>The trick to yummy, authentic spaghetti was to have an authentic Italian teach you to make it. Particularly an Italian who'd actually instruct you until it was perfect and preferably not one that would hit you with a tomato every time it wasn't.<br>When the boys had started on solid foods, noodles seemed to be the perfect beginner meal. Sadly Arthur learned early on that, rather amazingly, a lot of things could go wrong while just boiling noodles. So he'd enlisted the only two Italians he knew to help him and regretted it immediately. Luckily Feliciano was patient enough to stay on and finish the job, otherwise Thursday nights would not be something to celebrate.

Arthur sat at the kitchen table, enjoying the sound of people eating. Or to be more precise, little boys slurping and squishing noodles. The far end of the table was unaccustomedly empty. France usually made it a point to show up on Thursdays, if not for the solidarity of a family meal, then to endorse eating dinner in general. Especially eating dinner that England made. It stung his pride, but it had been a good plan so far.  
>He rested his chin on his palm and watched the boys, America was playing, more than eating his noodles, moving them into odd little hills and trails on his plate and then smashing them, all the while talking to himself. He didn't look remotely interested in eating, but at least he licked at the red spots that covered cheeks. Canada on the other hand was trying very hard to scoop his noodles onto his Spork. He had little success, one noodle out of every ten eventually clung to the plastic and made it to his mouth, it was slow going but at least he was eating.<br>England sat with his face in his hand watching the boys and absently pushing his own meal around until the clock in the living room tolled 7:30. Checking his own watch he looked back at the empty chair across from him with a frown. France still wasn't home. Sighing, he dabbed his mouth with a napkin and readied himself to excuse the boy's absent father. Just as he opened his mouth however, France walked through the door, alive, if looking a little harried, and as if he had just counted to ten before stepping inside. He still wore his coat and hat and was carrying a small filing box.  
>"My apologize, Mon tresor's," he exclaimed, putting the box down and kissing the blond tops of the boys heads. "Traffic was murder, down town. Ah spaghetti, merci Angelterre, I don't know if could stomach another meatloaf." He took off his coat, and sat, but instead of eating he took the lid off the box and began sorting its contents.<br>"It's Thursday, Francis, we always have spaghetti on Thursday." France nodded vaguely, still giving all his attention to the box. Arthur bristled at being ignored and forgotten, "And no work at the dinner table!" But the man opposite him didn't seem to care, he began pulling pictures from the box and setting them in rows. As quick as lighting a messy hand grabbed one.  
>"Non, Alfred, this is Papa's." France scolded the boy gently, but in the resulting tussle, ended up harshly ripping the photo away.<br>The little American began to cry, each tear tugged at Arthurs heart, but he kept his eyes on his plate and muttered. "Shouldn't have brought work to the table, Mate."  
>"It's not work, mon cher," France sighed, as he lifted Alfred from his seat to calm him, realizing too late that the boy was covered in red Marinara sauce.<br>England snorted into his glass of water as he saw Alfreds dinner mess transfer onto Francis' suit shirt.  
>"Merde," looking down at himself, then at England, Francis sighed "I suppose I deserve this?"<br>"Do you?" Arthur asked as he hooked his foot in Matthews chair, moving the photo curious toddler closer to his end of the table.  
>France rolled his eyes and planted Alfred on his hip, continuing to bounce him, while he deftly twisted his fork in the spaghetti and took a bite.<p>

Arthur watched France eat while still holding Alfred, looking very tired indeed. The boy looked tired too, but less sleepy and more bored, it was only a matter of time before he lunged for freedom. He was already straining for the wallet in Frances pocket.  
>"Watch it, Al's going for your billfold. You might as well set him down, he hasn't eaten his dinner yet."<br>France did as was directed, which surprised England, usually he enjoyed being contrary. His surprise didn't last long though, as soon as France was back in his seat, he was looking at the photos again. France then plucked a picture from the rest and presented it to him.  
>"What do you think? Would you buy perfume from this woman?"<br>The picture was of a lovely blond woman in a black turtle neck sweater. She was pleasant enough looking, but before he could get a better look France replaced it with another picture of another blond woman in the same black sweater.  
>"What is this…" England hesitated, spooning Americas spaghetti back on to his plate.<br>"How about her?"  
>"I didn't get a decent look at the first, Matty, just use your hands, for crying out loud."<br>"That's the point," France quipped, looking at the picture himself. "She needs to stop people with one glimpse."  
>"Alright," England sighed and looked at the picture, but it had changed again.<br>"Hey I hadn't even looked at that one!"  
>"You would have if she were good enough, how about her?"<br>Arthur focused on the next picture, this time a brunette with short curly hair.  
>"I-I don't know, the first?"<br>"And… her?" France had begun eating again and so left the picture up long enough for England to get a proper look.  
>"She's lovely."<br>"Bon," France said, a mouth full of noodles mumbling his words. Switching the pictures again he placed that one in a different pile; far from any sticky fingers.  
>"Can you at least tell me what you are doing?" England sighed, as he spooned more green beans on to Canada's tray, apparently the spork worked wonders on the beans.<br>"I am trying to find a model for a new catalog. What about her?"  
>"I thought Seychelles was your model."<br>France growled and held up another photo. "She quit. How's this one?"  
>A bizarre flutter erupted in England's stomach, he had to bite his lip to keep from saying something rude. Looking at the picture he dismissed it with a shake of his head. He was more interested to know what had happened between Francis and his golden goose, Seychelles. No wonder the man looked stressed. Granted, this meant France would be free to spend more time at home with him and the boys, without her drama to interfere.<br>Just then Francis held up another photo and a whistle escaped his lips.  
>"She's great looking, I'd buy whatever she was selling."<br>"Bon!" France took another bit of spaghetti and whipped out his cell phone.  
>"No phones at the table; house rules!" England chided again.<br>"No phones, no Phones!" chanted America, before having his mouth covered by Frances hand.  
>"I wouldn't do th-" England cried, but it was too late, France had walked into another one of Alfreds favorite traps.<br>"MERDE!" France shrieked, pulling his hand away from the toddler's mouth. His hand was now, predictably, covered in spaghetti and green bean mush. Cringing, England palmed his forehead.  
>"Idiot."<br>Taking his napkin, Arthur picked up the rejected pictures, which had been in the splash zone, and cleaned them off. It gave him time to actually look at the women who weren't deemed good enough to sell perfume. He couldn't find any fault with a single one of them. But Frances magazine wasn't the best selling publication for nothing. Out of his fog he heard France walk back over to the table.  
>"Oui I'll hold," Covering the phone Francis caught his gaze. "Can you bring the boys to the studio tomorrow?"<br>"Uh, I believe so, why?"  
>"I'm running low on models."<br>England was about to ask 'what for', when France caught him off guard again by eyeing him up and down. A flush crept to his cheeks and suddenly every spot of sauce he'd spilled on himself seemed to burn. What was the man up to now?  
>"Shave tomorrow. Oui? Oui I'm here…" And with that he left the kitchen with the words wardrobe and alterations following him as he vanished into the house.<br>"Daddy, I done, can I play?" Matthew asked, breaking the silence that followed Frances departure.  
>"Me too, me too!" Alfred added, dropping his sip cup onto the floor.<br>Arthur sized up the boys in front of him, it was indeed just another Thursday night. They were both covered in food, and in need of a bath before they played with anything. And it was left to him to bathe them, perhaps he'd let them loose in Francis' suite? That'd serve him right for abandoning his fatherly duties, again. Shaking the mean thoughts from his head Arthur looked the boys over again and decided that the sauce was definitely too red.

TO BE CONTINUED

Please comment.


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